Lay Your Weary Head Down (On Me)
by Ripki
Summary: Sleep can be as violent as a gruesome fight; as restful as a beloved's embrace. (The setting of the stage.) Part 2 of the "Between the Shadow and the Soul" verse.


Author's note: I am slowly building up my ROTS AU verse, and this is part 2 of "Between the Shadow and the Soul" verse. However, this story can also be read as a separate, individual story.

* * *

 **Lay Your Weary Head Down (On Me)**

Sleep can be as violent as a gruesome fight; as restful as a beloved's embrace. 

-o-

"Contact!" A tinny voice shouted through the comlink. The next words were badly distorted by static and a thunder of blaster shots on the background. Something exploded not far from where Anakin was half-crouching behind a partially demolished wall. The building had been a medcenter once; now it was a blackened ruin of steel and concrete, the few remaining windows like empty eye sockets in a skull.

His muscles tightened; a slight vibration in the air was a screaming disturbance in the Force. Anakin pivoted around his cover, saber already ignited as he leapt high into air. The two STAPs were cleaved violently in half, their droid riders smashing to the ground. With almost absent-mindedly Anakin finished them off, his sight and senses already on the next target: an AAT battle tank that pushed its way stubbornly through the debris filled narrow lanes.

"Sir!" Two troopers dashed to his side, the pristine white of their armor and the painted individual markings covered by layers of dirt and grime. Nevertheless, Anakin recognized them; the subtle differences in their Force presence were as clear to him as the distinctive features of non-clone faces. Dash and Tarry, fairly new to his 501st, joining the Legion only a month before they were sent to the miserable hellhole of a planet they currently were fighting in. They were good soldiers, if a little too Kamino-uptight still.

The AAT advanced steadily on them, the gun turret slowly swiveling around, meticulously looking for targets. Anakin signaled the troopers to stand their ground and cover his back; he was more than capable of scrapping one battle tank by himself. Not bothering to see if his order was obeyed – of course it was – he charged towards the tank, jumping onto the turret and slicing through it with a certain dark relish. The machine shook beneath him, the gunner firing desperately each and every way. Soon the turret fell silent as black, thick smoke started to billow from inside the mechanical beast. As the hatch popped open, Anakin was waiting; the escaping droids lost their heads in quick succession.

All of it was so familiar, he could have done it in his sleep. He _had_ done it in his sleep, thousands of times. Another thousand times he had done it awake, and then another and another. Hundreds of thousands of demolished battledroids lay behind him; even more was to come. When one Separatist droid factory was destroyed, two opened up elsewhere.

 _On and on it goes, forever on._ The smoke from the wrecked AAT curled like a serpent's tail, slithered towards him sinuously. _On and on and on, an endless assembly line of death._

The Force shouted in warning; a deafening roar that could not be ignored, and instinctively, without any thought, Anakin jumped. A moment later the battle tank he had been standing on exploded, the blast hurtling him down like a ragdoll. Everything went too quiet and still; he couldn't even hear his own breathing. The world was dark and it was hard to see. Something sharp poked at his side.

 _Get up!_ Anakin clutched his lightsaber hard in his right hand – at least he hadn't managed to lose the weapon that truly was his life. There was a bitter, metallic tang in his mouth. _Get up now!_ The sternly command sounded suspiciously like Obi-Wan.

Anakin heaved himself up, the noise and movement and pain rushing in like a monstrous wave. Another AAT was advancing from the rear; it had finished off the tank Anakin had started on and was now aiming at where he stood. A platoon of battledroids followed it, their machine guns grinding out a continuous stream of shots. He moved out of the way of another explosion, ducking as the remaining medcenter wall collapsed to the ground in a big heap of twisted beams and broken concrete.

The two troopers were already engaging the enemy, firing at the droids with deadly precision. They moved with the professional efficiency coded into their very bloodstream, showing no fear or hesitation, not even when the monstrous tank turned towards them, spitting fire and death.

As good as the clones were, they were no Jedi. They bled and fell and died all too easily on the fields of carnage.

His men down, limbs awkwardly askew, helmets and armor cracked like eggshells, Anakin _pushed_. A stroke of blazing thunder, a hurtling charge of hungry beasts, a wave of drowning darkness ripped out of him, raising the tank and flipping it upside down, smashing it to the ground. The battledroids soon followed suit, crushed and ripped apart – like discarded and destroyed playthings, left to lie there broken after their owner's angry tantrum.

Panting, Anakin fell to his knees. He closed his eyes for a second, willing the tremors shaking his body to subside. Control, control _, control_. The smell of smoke and blood and burned flesh assaulted him, and he threw up, retching until his throat stung. Only when he wiped his mouth did he notice that he had vomited blood.

No matter. He got up, went to check his men, called for a medic for the dying, turned to face the next oncoming enemy.

 _On and on it goes._

-o-

Obi-Wan found him sitting on a big slab of concrete under the open night sky. Or more accurately, Anakin let his former teacher find him; Obi-Wan's presence was as familiar to him as his own, if not even more so. When not actively cloaking it, Obi-Wan shone like a beacon in the darkness. Anakin knew his Master was approaching long before he emerged from the shadows and stepped towards him with the familiar frown firmly in place. Anakin stayed sitting on his hard seat; too tired to play the avoiding game with the other man, he had let his friend find him, but he could already tell that the oncoming confrontation would be exhausting on its own right.

"All sectors are quiet – it seems they were merely trying their luck today. The patrols found no sign of preparations for a bigger assault." Anakin nodded; he wasn't being told anything he didn't already know. In addition to the usual scouts, the Seps were also sending a few platoons every day to test the strength of their lines. Every day the clankers were beaten back.

"The com-relay is still unable to transmit or pick up anything." More news that weren't news. They hadn't been able to contact anyone outside the planet in weeks – not the Jedi Council, not the High Command, not even the Republic cruisers that came to drop the much needed supplies. All their efforts were met with silence.

Obi-Wan's eyes raked Anakin thoroughly from head to toe, no doubt taking in every visible scrape and hurt, probably seeing all the hidden ones too. Anakin had never managed to hide any injury from his mentor, however hard he had tried to.

Obi-Wan sighed quietly, a soft sound of disappointment and disapproval that always made Anakin feel small. "You should see a medic."

"I'm _fine_." Anakin knew his tone was sharp and hostile, but he couldn't help it. Only the hardness of the words kept them from collapsing under the sheer absurdity of the claim they both knew was blatantly untrue.

Obi-Wan's expression tightened, his whole body tensed – as if he was going into battle, charging to confront his adversary. Anakin waited; his heart sped up, the rush of blood quickened, the muscles readied themselves for violent action. He _wanted_ to fight almost as much as he did _not_ want to fight.

"Anakin – you _need_ to rest." His Master's words sounded more like a plea than a command. Suddenly, Obi-Wan seemed as tired as Anakin was, his proud head dipped into a weary bow. The sight doused the hot flames inside Anakin like nothing else; made him want to surrender without a fight, to be a lesser burden for his friend to carry. But that was not his way, nor was it _their_ way.

"By the look of you, _you_ really need your beauty sleep too, Master," Anakin sniped with only a little venom. It was all the acquiescence he could give. _I can't_ was left unsaid, but not unheard. _I can't sleep, Master._

"Undoubtedly," Obi-Wan snorted. _Try, Padawan._

For a moment he stayed right there with Anakin, standing silent under the night sky. His strong hand came to rest on his former student's shoulder; a warm and familiar pressure that was now as cherished as it sometimes had been resented.

Then Obi-Wan merged back into shadows, and Anakin was left to watch the stars above; they were small and cold and distant. Or perhaps it was only him that was all those three.

-o-

Anakin did try to _try_.

He sat down on the cot; the thin blanket was in a heap at the foot of the bed, smelling dank. Everything in the small, windowless room was damp and dirty and dark. He hardly took any notice of the misery of it anymore: it had been his and Obi-Wan's home for five months now, ever since their forces had been driven to take shelter in the ruined city's underground bunkers and sewage system.

At least they had a cot; most of their men hadn't even that and they slept on the hard rock floor, in any vaguely comfortable spot they could find. Some of them had managed to find mattresses, pillows or other soft materials that could be used as a bed from the ruins above, but the city had been – and was still being – bombed so thorough, that everything that could have been of use was more often than not in pieces, broken beyond repair or vaporized into sharp dust. It was difficult enough to get medical and food supplies down to the planet through the Separatist blockade, not to mention badly needed military equipment; more comfortable sleeping accommodations were hardly a priority.

Tired beyond all measure, Anakin didn't bother to take off his boots or cloak. He didn't bother lying down or picking up the blanket; he would not be sleeping anyway. If he closed his eyes, the blackness would be blacker than the darkest night, the poisonous whispers and venomous hisses would get louder than the certainty of his heart. _It's been so long_ , they moaned. _Anything could have happened, anything at all_ , they feared. _She could be hurt, she could be lost, she could be dead. Would you know?_

 _It's been too long. You don't know._

He ached thinking of Padmé, the dull throb of longing like a sore tooth that festered and irritated until the pain felt a normal state of being, an essential part of him. It had not always been so; once, even the smallest thought of her had filled him with blinding joy.

Anakin stood up so quickly that for a moment, the floor was unsteady beneath his feet, the grey walls blurring together like a smudge of soot. The faint booms of explosions echoed in his ears; if he concentrated he could hear the sporadic exchange of fire from above. War never slept.

He left the miserable room behind and went to fight.

-o-

The entire right half of the clone's face was swollen; a ruined mess of black and blue. The rest of his face was blanched bone-white, leeched of any color or life. His laborious breaths were dragged worth from his chest, each painful lungful a great, exhaustive battle – a battle that the trooper was steadily losing. The decisive strike had already been dealt; now it was only a question of when the stubborn will would surrender to the demands of a broken body.

"Gen…gen-eral…" The rasping voice was hardly audible in the silence.

"Dash," Anakin acknowledged. He wanted to say, _Kix is going to fix you in no time_. _Soon, you'll be up and fighting again._ But he never lied to his men, nor did they appreciate platitudes and empty reassurances. They were soldiers – they knew when their last fight had been lost.

"Sor- sor…" The trooper struggled to get the words out, his cracked lips drawn in permanent grimace. "Sorry…to dissa-diss…appoint –"

"Now hear me soldier," Anakin made his voice stern, commanding. "You have done _no_ such thing. It has been an honor serving with you."

"Honor…" The wounded man sighed, closing his one functioning eye. A small rivulet of blood ran from his mouth across his jaw, dripping to the swath of bandages covering his neck and shoulders. Anakin stared at the little red river, mesmerized; the blood twisted and turned like a snake, curled around the dying flesh. _There's no fixing you_ , its crimson tail proclaimed. _You'll already dead._

"Brot – _brother_ …" The trooper rallied for one last time, his heartfelt plea one that Anakin was unable to fulfill.

"I'm here." Immediately, Kix stepped beside the bed from the corner, where he had busied himself with their pitiful medical supplies, trying to give Anakin an illusion of privacy. The medic laid his hand gently on Dash's arm. With the utmost care, Kix wiped the trail of red from the corner of his mouth and chin.

"Sleep now, brother. I will watch over you."

Knowing he was no longer needed nor wanted, Anakin turned to go, leaving the living to guard the dead.

-o-

The clang of his boots echoed in the dark underground tunnel. The dank stone walls boxed him in, buried him under rock and concrete and the remains of destroyed buildings and lives. Slowly, the walls wept cold water, the moisture seeping along the hard rock.

Far above, there were the lonely stars, but Anakin was sick of their cold company.

He went past men fitfully sleeping in every nook and cranny, soldiers resting against the walls, their eyes open but sightless. Someone coughed wetly; another groaned with repressed pain. More than one were awake, servicing their weapons again and then again, like a machine someone had forgotten to turn off. Only a few raised their heads, watching their general move as a shadow among wraiths.

At the back of the tunnel, the small room was as miserable as before, like a prison cell of their own making.

"Move over." Anakin sat down on the narrow cot and pushed Obi-Wan backwards, further towards the concrete wall. The other man grunted, but didn't protest, although the cot had hardly been designed to comfortably hold one full grown man, let alone two. He looked at Anakin through half-open eyes, the lines on his face more pronounced with bone-deep tiredness.

Anakin settled down, facing the exit and shifted until his back was against Obi-Wan's front. He drew his knees forward as much as he could, but the cramped cot didn't give much opportunity for space. Obi-Wan's left arm curled around Anakin's head, while the other found its place over his side. With the Force, their one ratty blanket settled over them, covering them from the waist down.

It was pleasantly warm, surprisingly comfortable. Comforting, if Anakin was being completely honest with himself. It felt good to be that close to someone, another living being, whose warmth he could feel all along his back. A reassurance only a solid presence of hard muscle and bone could give.

The bond between them hummed with gentle satisfaction; they were both there, safe. Anakin closed his eyes. The darkness was never so dark with his Master so close at his side, their hearts beating in synchrony. The black abys was never so near or so deep, when Obi-Wan was beside him, their breaths mingling. Even the hissing voices quieted and relented, silenced by his partner's quiet vigilance.

Callused fingers stroke lightly his forehead, twined through his messy hair. "Rest," his Master commanded, and Anakin did, for a blessed moment forgetting everything else.


End file.
